


Waves on the Shore

by missema



Series: Angie and Wendy [3]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alphabet Challenge, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 13,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wendy Amell, the Hero of Ferelden from the story, A Song in the Wind.  Her adventures are written here as alphabet drabbles.<br/>Most drabbles are post-Blight, taking place in Amaranthine, but some are earlier memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Amell

Amell.  Just writing the name feels powerful, like there is strength behind it, or rather, built into it.  Wendy wrote her surname slowly, carefully in her teenaged penmanship, the end of her quill making a dark, bold stroke against the parchment as she wrote it again and again.  Amell.  Wendy Amell.  She's written her name before, but this time, these next times, it means something different.  There's family behind her name.  
  
There are people here at the Circle, people that don't have surnames.  Senior Enchanter Wynne for instance, though she doesn't really know Wynne at all and can't ask her why.  But then there's Jowan.  If he had a surname, he certainly didn't tell Wendy, which would be odd because they were good friends.  He doesn't speak much about his own past, and Wendy wonders what he remembers and what he's made up.  Jowan was a good buddy, but he lived in fantasies in his head, making it hard to separate fact from wishful rewrites.  
  
But if it weren't for Jowan, she wouldn't know anything at all about Amell.  It would just be another name, something empty and lost to her.  He helped her break in and read her file and now she knows, Wendy really feels like she is an Amell, even though she isn't quite sure what that means.  Whatever it means, it soothes her to know that there are people out there, a family that is somewhere.  Her file had that information blanked out, probably an attempt to keep intrepid apprentices from trying to escape and go back to the families that were left behind.  
  
Apparently there are lots of Amells out there, all of them related to her.  Brothers and sisters were mentioned in her file, though their names and ages were left out.  She wished she knew there names at the very least.  Her mother, Revka, was listed, only a blurry memory in her mind became a name, Revka Amell.  There was no father in the files, and she wondered if her mother had been poor, her husband gone.  Maybe she hadn't been married at all, her partner leaving as she continued to bear magical children.  She imagined her mother to be heartbroken but resolute, quiet and imposing with the sorrow of many stolen babies throbbing through her being.  
  
Wendy is one of the stolen and she's never felt more wronged than when she finds out about the Amells.  A family, her family with more than one mage in it.  Indignation grows in her as she thinks about it, wondering how the Chantry can justify breaking families apart like they do.  No doubt they feel as if it is in the best interest of society, but too many things in the Circle don't make sense, and this is just the latest thing to confuse her in a life that has seemed senseless.  
  
Another thought comes to her, that if there are brothers and sisters that are magical, they are probably in other Circles in Thedas.  Wendy never had any reason to believe in the Maker, but after she sees her file, she prays for them, the siblings she can't remember.  If they are out there, if there are more Amells, she hopes they've all passed their Harrowing, that they are all good mages.  She hopes that somewhere they are praying for her, so that she can pass her own.  
  
She slowly writes it out one more time in the darkened apprentice quarters.  Wendy Amell.  Amell.  Her name.  Even the templars can't take that away from her.  
  
"Amell."  She whispers into the room, so quiet that only she can hear it.  "Amell."  For the first time, it means something.


	2. B is for Blood Magic

She didn't know what caused Jowan to turn to blood magic in the first place, but she wished she could have been the one to talk him out of it.  Had he said something, anything to her, she would have told him not to do it.  There was enough suspicion in the Circle without actually doing blood magic.  
  
The thought that he had made a deal with a demon for power made her so dispirited she felt as if her chest might collapse in on itself. Why wasn't he here with her?  They were like family after all, as close as anyone could be in the Circle.   
  
But he hadn't trusted her for a while apparently, because he hadn't told her about Lily either.  The wrenching in her gut threatened to make her sick as she thought about it.  How could he not trust her, after all the things they'd been through together?  
  
There were so many things she wanted to say to Jowan, but she didn't know how when she'd seen him at Redcliffe.  Her fight or flight instinct had kicked in and she'd just wanted him to be as far from there as possible.  
  
Why couldn't she have been the one to stop him?  
  
"You have a look about you, like your mind is on a memory that isn't pleasing.  What's wrong?"  Leliana asked, sitting next to Wendy.  
  
"Has anyone you cared about ever hurt you?"  Wendy asked, turning to face Leliana.  The blue eyes of her companion filled with a deep sorrow that matched her own and the young mage wondered if she'd overstepped.  
  
"Yes, there have been people that I loved that didn't deserve it."  
  
"Well, I'm not sure about whether he deserves it or not, but my friend, just a friend, didn't trust me and it still hurts.  It makes me wonder if I did or said the wrong thing, or worse, if I missed something important."  Wendy explained, her face turning stormy as she spoke the words that had been rolling around in her head.  
  
"Was your friend up to something?"  She asked.  Wendy nodded miserably.  "And you were left in the dark about their intentions.  I see, but more importantly, I understand."  
  
"Listen to me."  Leliana started, her voice firm.  "It didn't have anything to do with you then.  It was about their nature, how duplicitous your friend was being.  You are a lovely friend.  Look at how you've helped all of us in such a short time, Alistair especially.  I think he may have a bit of a crush on you."  She said, leaning in conspiratorially.  
  
Wendy considered her words about Jowan, wondering if it had been his own mistrust that had led him away from her friendship.  Lost in thought, she looked out at the fire, memories swirling in her head.  Things were wrong, stilted and broken as she thought back, changed by the knowledge she now had, that her best friend was a blood mage.  Nothing made her feel better, not even the words Leliana offered, the ones about Alistair just making her feel confused and a little wary.  Turning back to the bard, Wendy summoned a smile.  
  
"Thank you for talking with me, Leliana."  She said.  
  
"But you don't feel better?"  The intuitive woman asked, her eyes narrowed as she inspected Wendy.  
  
"Not really."  She laughed, "But thanks for trying."  
  
"Maybe understanding will come, or maybe time will just ease the pain.  Whatever it is you need, I hope you find it."   
  
Wendy hoped that too, for herself and for Jowan.  She stood up, making her way over to her tent.  There were things out there that would come to collect on his debt, sooner or later, but before that, she wanted to think that everything - the blood magic, losing Lily and running away, was for some reason, and that time would reveal it to her.


	3. C is for Cannot

Wendy cannot cry, this isn't the time right now.  Not when Alistair is looking at her and Morrigan is sniffing in her general direction.   
  
She doesn't know why the sight of the mabari makes her want to cry, but it does.  There were so many things ruined at Ostagar and to see the dog she'd helped earlier coming towards her made tears fill her eyes.  
  
It was such a little thing, but it made her feel as if something had gone right.  This dog hadn't died, despite the odds.  There were so many, soldier, human, elf, and hound that perished that it was almost a miracle that this dog hadn't died.  He'd found her, even after nearly dying herself.  
  
And that's why she wanted to cry, but wouldn't.  She absolutely couldn't let herself she thought stubbornly as she hugged the dog to her.    
  
"Heya boy?  Feeling better?  You look better."  She babbled at the dog, who was looking up at her as if he understood her, but just couldn't answer back.  
  
A blood-splattered hand scratched his neck, and it was then that she realized how smelly he was.  It was potent, but not enough for her to stop touching him.  An errant tear trickled down her cheek, and her new dog eagerly licked her face, giving her a whoosh of dog breath that nearly knocked her over.

"I don't know what to call you."  She mused, and Alistair looked at the ground unhelpfully.   
  
From someplace off to her left she heard Morrigan mutter "An annoyance."  
  
"How about Lionel?  Do you like that?"  She asked, remembering a name she'd read in a book once at the Tower.  The dog nodded eagerly, but in truth she could have suggested nearly anything and the enthusiastic beast would have had the same reaction.  He was so glad to be back with her, ever since she'd helped him in the kennels, the dog had taken to her.  
  
"Come on then Lionel.  We've got a country to save."  Wendy ordered playfully.  When she started walking, he fell back into the group with Morrigan and Alistair, as if he'd always meant to be there, but had simply been delayed.  
  



	4. D is for Drunk

She's spent much of the Blight wandering around Ferelden, gathering her allies, carrying out the tasks they've asked of her in order to secure the aid needed.  No one could ever say she hadn't done her duty, not when she'd gone out of her way to run errands and make coin.  Whenever they'd been in a city or had a job to do, she'd lead them into action.  
  
But the other times, well, Wendy's been drunk.  
  
Not all the time, but a good enough amount of time that Oghren pulled her aside.  Oghren.  
  
Alistair has been worried, his furrowed brow saying more than any words he could formulate.  Wynne offered herself as a counselor and mentor, and tried to convince her to talk, as if they were still trapped in Kinloch Hold and she the apprentice again.  Leliana watches but offers nothing, and Sten thinks her foolish and young, unworthy of the glory promised to her by defeating the Blight.  She can't tell if Morrigan noticed or cared, but Shale has made the off-color comment, prompting Zevran to stick up for her.  
  
But it didn't matter really, because drinking didn't take away the nightmares.  It didn't make it easier to bear.  It just made things fuzzy, made her feel a little better as she tried to keep a light alive inside of her.  Maker, she wanted to lie down and die, and sometimes caught herself thinking fondly of life trapped in the Circle.  Even those idle fantasies were marred with the truth, memories of the blood mages and terrors there woven in with her dreams of the archdemon and Ostagar.  There were nights she woke up panting, wondering how she'd gotten back to Flemeth's Hut again, chased by the ghosts of the dead that fell that awful night.  Sometimes she wondered why Alistair didn't drink with her.  
  
"You know Warden, it's not going to stop the Blight."  Oghren said to her. "But it does something.  Eases something that otherwise would be too aware, too much."  He hiccuped loudly before going on.  "I understand."  His solemn, slack face did understand, comprehension buried deep in his clouded green eyes.  
  
Wendy didn't answer him, but was glad he was with her.  In the days after the Landsmeet, Wendy stopped suddenly, abandoning her liquid relief, her mind clearer as they marched on Redcliffe.  She didn't understand why she stopped then, because the terrible fate that had been looming since Ostagar was about to become far too real for her liking, and she could have used an escape, but it seemed like the right time.  It was time to face everything.


	5. E is for Entropy

It's not a school of magic that she's familiar with at all, but Entropy fascinates her.  First it was Morrigan, insisting that it was just plain foolish not to learn useful magic just because of the school.

"The templars would have us all locked up if we learned more than basic spells.  There are things worth preserving in the world Wendy, knowledge that is meant to be found."  Morrigan had advised one night at camp.

Those nights seemed so long ago, the Blight an increasingly distant memory, but it left scars all over.

In the Circle there are endless petitions, requests and written proposals before a tutor is assigned to help with the spellwork, an Enchanter to oversee the whole of the study.  She hadn't the patience or the inclination back then to learn.  It attacked the life force of a foe, and seemed a bit dodgy to her, back when she'd never thought she would get into a fight, let alone lead an army.

Since she's been in Amaranthine, Wendy's been studying, Howe's library has a alarmingly large number of magical books, and she wonders where he got them.  Perhaps they've been passed down over the years, but Nathaniel never mentioned magic in his line.  Regardless of why they are here, they're hers now and she's grateful.  She needs new magic now, stronger spells.  Here, for the first time she understands how easy it is to succumb to the need for power, and she holds herself tight against the urge to do _anything_.  Entropy spells would be as far down the well as she would go.

Even Anders knows a few entropy, and he's as far from a blood mage as anyone she's known.  It was funny, when she first met him, incinerating those darkspawn in the Keep, she was sure he'd turn out to be a maleficar, or just trouble in one way or another, something about him put her on her guard.

But he just wanted to be free.  He didn't want to have to fight or sneak away, he just wanted to live a free life.  It's what she wanted too, a life free of the darkspawn threat so they could focus on real social problems, on reclaiming history, on giving much need aid the dwarves, who had their homes destroyed by the folly of man, instead of fighting an endless war.  Until they finished this, Thedas would be stuck in a cycle of war without an end, and who knows if the legends of the magisters are really true, it could just be a convenient tale to name the archdemons.  An eight Blight was a real possibility in her mind, and it strengthened her resolve making her want to work harder during the time she had left.

"So,"  Wendy said, sitting down in front of Anders again.  "Can you show me how to do Paralyze one more time?  I'm still getting the hang of this school."

"Didn't feel like jumping through all those hoops at the Circle to learn it, did you?"  Anders asked, his smile understanding.  "They make it unreasonably difficult to even get permission to learn, just to put students off.  But Spirit Healing, which requires a deeper connection to the Fade is perfectly okay.  I don't understand them, Maker, I really don't."  He shook his head angrily, but then turned back to her, his smile still on his face.  "Let me just say how much I _love_ our private lessons, Commander."

Wendy laughed, smacking him on the arm.  "Alright, alright.  Just let me try the spell one more time, and you tell me why it isn't that powerful."  She said, getting into a casting stance for their lesson.  Their last fight had been fierce, the darkspawn stronger and smarter now, even their weapons and armor were more advanced.

If it took entropic spells to give her an edge in fighting, she could master the whole damn school.


	6. F is for Fire

He's sitting across from her and she's stealing glances at him through the firelight.  They're camping outside of Amaranthine, on the way to the Wending Wood.  
  


And all she can think about is how she likes the way Nathaniel's hair falls in front of his face.

He wanted to kill her, and Wendy knows that isn't the best start to a relationship, but at least she got a friendship out of it with Zevran.  At the thought of the Antivan rogue, her mouth quirks upwards into a smirk and she can't help but miss the man.  He was a good friend and she wondered what misadventures he was getting up to on the road without her.

But _Nathaniel_ , just thinking his name makes her shudder with want.  Whenever he's around, she's acutely aware of him, and how she relates to him.  Her body turns towards him, opening and inviting in an ever-so-subtle manner that she couldn't manage if she gave it conscious thought.

She doesn't know much about the Howe family outside of his father, the greedy, misguided man that allied with Loghain during the Blight.  Even living in their Keep, being amongst their things yields little information about the family, and it's made her wonder, on more than one occasion if Howe maybe purged his home of his family history so he could rewrite it.  It seems like just the kind of project he would have undertaken.  Varel would probably know, but Wendy doesn't want to ask him, her seneschal winces painfully whenever his time with Howe is mentioned.

So in that way they're even, because he doesn't know anything about her either, no way of finding out her background and judging her by it.  It feels fair, and she'd be willing, eager even, to talk to him more, to get to know him without preconception, but he's never expressed an interest in her.

It almost stings, and is certainly a disappointment after everyone in Ferelden was throwing their knickers at her during the Blight.  Maybe certain doom made people friskier or more desperate.  Whatever it was, she'd turned down more than her fair share of liaisons during the Blight, only indulging Isabela, the Pirate Queen and a few of the more memorable workers at the Pearl.  She'd rejected the idea of starting a relationship with one of her companions, thinking it too demanding to be near the person, day in and day out.

With Nathaniel, she'd welcome every day and night with him.  Wendy nearly moans as she looks over at him, long, toned arm reaching down beside him, plucking an unfletched arrow off the pile.  She'd entranced by the fluid grace of his movements, the bulky muscle of his arm, so assured as it works, his face dark with concentration, neck bent downward as he watches his hands work.  A stray dark hair falls in his face and he shakes it out of his way, throwing his head back impatiently.

"Something you need, Commander?"  He asks in his hoarse voice, piercing through her private inspection of him and Wendy blushes, embarrassed that he caught her staring.

"No, nothing."  She shakes her head and hastily turns her gaze away from him, pointedly looking in the opposite direction.

If she'd looked back, she would have seen him smiling at her before he went back to his work.  She doesn't, intent on keeping their watch as their companions slept.  Every so often, he looks over at her, admiring the way the firelight dances on her skin.


	7. G is for Grateful

There aren't a lot of things Wendy feels grateful for, but Amaranthine is one of them.  Honestly, she was starting to go a little mad in Denerim, with everyone going their separate ways and Alistair called to Weisshaupt.

Seeing Oghren again, being able to fight, all of it gives her a sense of home she hadn't realized she missed.  

After the Circle, there was the Blight.  There was purpose and duty, even if she hadn't been the most mature Warden recruit when they'd started out.  Wendy winces as she recalls the memory of herself, not ready for all that she needed to do, her and Alistair, the most unprepared Wardens in history to ever end a Blight.

Denerim - she's amazed so much of it is still standing.  It's a sad sight, all of the orphans and poor everywhere, people displaced as they Blight ravaged their lands and killed their family members.  There's hardly a family in Ferelden still completely intact, the population decimated by the civil war and darkspawn.

And Nathaniel.  There's no telling how he feels about her, but given his flirting with Velanna, she's fairly certain that the archer doesn't have much in the way of romantic feelings for her.  It stings, but even that feeling is welcome. During the Blight, Wendy just felt numb so much of the time.  There was so much fighting, and the near destruction of Kinloch Hold, combined with the overwhelming duty of being one of two Wardens in Ferelden, neither knowing much about how to stop the ancient malevolence that threatened to overtake everything they knew - sometimes she shut down.  Now, feeling felt like it was just returning to her being, she could breathe without looking over her shoulder, think without having to react and be on the run.  So, this crush, the feeling like heavy stones that lining her stomach whenever she hears the gentle teasing that Nathaniel uses to flirt with the Dalish mage, it isn't pleasant.

But she's grateful that she feels it at all.

"Commander, the nobles are waiting for you."  Sensechal Varel's voice is close to her ear and she looks over and smiles at the man, indispensable to her as she navigates another perilous unknown, running an arling.  She didn't hear him come in, and he must not have wanted to startle her, but he's standing in front of her, reassuring as always.

"Thank you, Varel.  I'll get down to the main hall and deal with them."  He smiles at her as she answers, and she knows he has as little tolerance for the bickering and politics as she does.

Wendy gets up from where she's sitting in her study, setting the map she'd been reviewing aside.  There was much to do to restore the arling, and today she needed to allocate the limited resources she had.  It was a small thing, but it made her smile.  That there was an arling to rebuild, that things hadn't fallen completely apart under her command, it was yet another thing that she was grateful for.  With a small smile on her face, she heads out, ready to face her duties.


	8. H is for Hurt

It took a lot to get her down in battle, she didn't become a battle mage for nothing, but eventually one of the hurlocks got the better of Wendy.  Dizziness filled her and she feels herself falling during combat, unable to summon the mana to heal herself in time.

When she comes to, there's a hand on her shoulder, shaking her roughly, an armored boot giving her a kick to the side, to her back, as Sigrun and Oghren try to rouse her.  Wendy makes a mental note to cast a shock spell on Oghren from behind, just to get him back for the metal toe she feels hitting her repeatedly in the back.

"Commander, come on.  Get up, woman."  He said gruffly.  No one liked to see their fearless leader being anything other than invincible, they liked her to live up to the title " _Hero of Ferelden_ " without actually being human.  It was silly, but even Oghren fell prey to it, and he didn't like being reminded that she wasn't something other than just a mage.

"Gimme a minute."  Wendy slurred, her face still laying on the ground.  She was trying to summon the will to sit up and heal herself, with no success.  It was harder whenever she was hurt, it made her want to give into the pain and fall asleep, let her spirit replenish the natural way instead of taking lyrium.

Sigrun and Oghren were still hovering awkwardly over her, standing far enough away that she couldn't reach them, but staring at her, then looking away whenever she met their eyes.  The scent of dirt was coiling in her nostrils and when she took a deep breath, she could smell her own blood, the filthy stench of darkspawn and the putrid smell of brimstone from one of the fire spells she'd cast earlier.

"For the Maker's Sake!"  Wendy was trying to push herself into a sitting position with her pulpy, useless arms when she heard the exclamation.  Arms enveloped her, wrapping around her torso, sitting her upright. She found herself leaning on a thick, muscled shoulder, clad in leather armor.   Nathaniel.   She exhaled, shaking slightly from the effort it took to maintain her new position.    

"She can't heal herself if she can't sit up.  I thought even dwarves would understand that."  He grumbled.  While his tone was harsh, his hands were tender and Wendy felt herself blush as his hands busied themselves at her waist.

"Nath..."  She started, her voice a mumble from a mouth filled with pain, swollen from hitting the ground.  She could taste the blood, feel the indent her teeth left on the softness of her inner cheek when her face had collided with the hard-packed dirt.  Even with all of her injuries, the feeling of him touching her was sending heat spreading through her damaged body, pleasure blotting out the pain.

"Here."  He said, shoving a bottle of lyrium in front of her face.  Ah, she understood.  He'd been searching her pockets and belt for the lyrium he knew she had hidden there, supplies she couldn't reach.  

The realization made her a little sad, even as she drank the restorative.  The ability to cast came back to her as she felt the cool lyrium spread throughout her being, replenishing her.  Part of her had thought there was something more than helpfulness in his touches, that there was some hidden tenderness, a desire to help her that came from affection rather than duty.

As she healed herself, Nathaniel sat next to her, letting his body bear her weight.  She was still little breathless, tired and achy, but she'd make it back fine now.

"All better?"  He asked.

"For now."  Wendy answered as she stood up.  She was still dizzy, and she rocked unsteadily on her feet, but at least she could feel the worst of her pain draining away.  Nathaniel placed a steadying arm around her waist.

"I'll help.  We can't have the Commander out of the fight."  He informed her with a small smile.

It broke her heart.  The Commander, yet again.  Despite her sadness she smiled back at him, unable to resist.


	9. I is for Invitation

The lit candle making a faint golden light shine underneath the crack of her door is invitation enough for Nathaniel, who is still angry with the Commander, just a little, when he stomps into her room.

"Commander."  Nathaniel growled at the woman hunched over the desk.   _She's thinner than I thought she was._ That first, random thought pops into his mind, followed by one that reminds him of propriety, how he's not supposed to be in here, seeing her in her thin dressing gown, a startled, sleepy look on her face.

Her long, dark brown hair is loose from the ponytail she normally wears it in, spilling over her shoulders, framing her face.  The big green eyes that were the centerpiece of her face were drooping with fatigue, long, unkempt hair dangling in front of them.  He can see the lines the sun has drawn on her already dark brown skin, the lines of her robes that left paler, untouched half moons on her breasts, and straining, he pulls his eyes away, back up towards her lovely face.  

Maker, Wendy is about the prettiest thing he's ever seen.  Aesthetically, he enjoys Velanna, he even finds Sigrun cute, wonderfully shapely when she isn't clad in her thick, Legion of the Dead armor.  But Wendy, she's in a differently league.  Battles have hardened her body in a way most mages aren't, the faint, raised lines of old scars mark her body in different spots, almost all visible to him in the sheer, pale blue nightdress she's wearing.  The thing is covered in Orelesian lace, and it looks like a gift, perhaps from a lover.

It occurs to him that he's never even asked her, just assumed that she wasn't with anyone.  In all the time they'd had in Amaranthine, she'd never mentioned a lover, didn't even really talk about anything before the Blight unless it was with Anders.  Anders had told them that he heard a templar once had a crush on their leader, but nothing more was ever said about it and when he'd asked Wendy, she'd promptly slapped him on the back of his head, a memory that made Nate chuckle whenever he reminded Anders of it.

"What is it, Nathaniel?"  Her arms were folded in front of her chest, defensive, but she stared back at him with defiant eyes.

"I came, um."  He trailed off, unable to remember exactly why he'd barged in here so angry in the first place.  "I wanted to say..."  But the once solid thought had turned to vapor, and he's standing there unable to articulate a reason for being alone with her, in her bedchamber, both of them mostly undressed, ready for bed.  A sweet, musky scent, faint and intoxicating made him lean in closer to her.  It was coming from her, not intense enough to be perfume, but perhaps something in her bathwater, or in her hair.  

Wendy was still looking up at him, but now it wasn't as defensive, more curious.  Her lips were parted, a question in her eyes as he moved closer still to her.  Nathaniel closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, and then let a large, calloused hand tangle in her hair.

Buzzing filled his ears, and fingers fueled by lusty dreams make a trail down her skin, across her jaw and down her the bronze of her neck.  He can hear her breath quicken, the arms unlock from in front of her chest as she reached upward to return the caress.

It's more than enough of an invitation, her returning his interest.  An explosion of triumphant desire courses through Nathaniel, sparking across his skin as if she'd set magic to it.  When he leaned down to kiss her, a last coherent thought ran through his mind.

The scent was definitely coming from her hair.


	10. J is for Jory

As Sigrun takes the Joining, Wendy thinks about her own.  Every time one of her recruits drinks from the tainted chalice, she thinks about Daveth and Jory, but especially the knight.  
  
He had seen battle, but after watching Daveth die taking his joining, Jory couldn't face it.  Wendy understood both sides of it, why Jory got scared and why Duncan couldn't let him go.  
  
Sometimes she wonders if as the Warden-Commander, the same role that Duncan had before the Blight, if she'd be able to do what Duncan did.  Could she stop someone like Jory, panicked and scared as he drew a blade on her?  Wendy doesn't rightly know, or at least, she likes to pretend that she doesn't, but she's killed people now and would end an attack on her in seconds.  
  
But it's not a situation she'll likely have to face now, nearly two years since she became a Warden, plenty of people in Ferelden lost loved ones to Darkspawn.  The Blight is recorded on the faces of the people who still live, any visit to the Chantry full of people seeking to honor their beloved lost children, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers.  Humans and elves are much more willing to become Wardens now, whatever the cost, some see it as the only thing they can do, and others as a way of getting retribution. It's funny, but it hadn't been an honor for her, not at all, not until something shifted after serving with Alistair, working together to unite a nation.  
  
She'd been so hesitant back at the Tower, unwilling to go into such uncertainty, not even sure if Wardens were truly needed after all the years of peace. Blissfully ignorant of the horrors that brewed beneath the surface at all times, the realities of dwarven society weren't something they'd ever been taught about in the Circle.  The darkspawn never went away, just as the people of Amaranthine were finding out now.  
  
Despite people being more understanding, she can't help but think of Ser Jory and the wife he left behind.  Did she understand the scarifice of the Wardens, or had she bought into his feeble reassurances that he'd come back after the Blight?  Wardens didn't come back, didn't have families, and Jory should have known that.  Wendy considered writing a personal note to the woman, but doesn't know what she could possibly say.  What could she possibly offer?  
  
He died in service to Ferelden, and has a place amongst the Grey Wardens.  No matter what, Wendy really believes that Jory was a Warden, even if he didn't take the Joining.

"She lives, Commander."  Varel informed her as he crouched over Sigrun, making sure the small woman was still breathing.

Wendy stayed with Sigrun until she was awake, just as Alistair and Duncan had with her.

"I'm a Warden now?"  Sigrun's voice was croaky and strained as she stirred, but there was pride there, a sense of accomplishment.

"Yes.  Welcome."  Wendy answered, an echo of the welcome that was offered to her.


	11. K is for Kindred

Anders is standing in the kitchens at Vigil's Keep, baking a cake.  Even though Wendy never mentioned it to anyone, but he remembers from his time at the Tower that it's getting close to her Name Day.  The apprentices would always surprise one of their own, if they knew their Name Day or even had a vague notion of when it was.  There were so few celebrations, but he remembered most of the people that knew their Name Days.  Few of them were still alive, and he'd been determined to celebrate with Wendy.

"My mother used to bake for us, all the time."  Anders explained with a small grin.  "She made confections, cakes and the like for sale, you know, for some extra money.  I learned a little from her, before I had to go to the Circle."

Wendy smiles at Anders, a little unsure about the mess he's made in the kitchens, but grateful all the same.  She watches him as he works, listening to him hum.  The two of them sit together, without talking, but in a pleasant, companionable silence.

"You know, Commander, I really think we're kindred spirits of a sort.  I thought that even in the Tower."

"But we never talked there."  Wendy pointed out, grimacing at him.  Anders walked over and gave her a spoon covered in batter.

"Eat that."  He instructed.

"It's raw."  The mixture on the spoon looked suspect.

"Trust me, it won't matter when you taste it."  Wendy did as she was told, groaning a little when she tasted the sugary mixture.  Anders eyed her as she licked the spoon, and she had to restrain herself, though he still wore an impish grin when she handed him back the utensil.

"I meant that I always liked you, though I had to wonder about you and Jowan."

"There was nothing between us.  We're just friends, or rather we were.  I don't know if we are now, but I'd like to think so.  I don't like the thought of just abandoning people."

"See!  Kindred spirits.  That's just the sort of dumb thing I would do, getting my arse in a pinch to escape the tower."

Wendy didn't point out that it wasn't she that had wanted to escape, just Jowan and Lily.  She _had_ destroyed his phylactery though, and then tried to do the same for Anders, so maybe that's what he meant.  No matter what, she was enjoying the cake smells coming from the wood stove and she liked Anders's company.

Perhaps they weren't as kindred as he tried to make them out to be, but she couldn't help but like someone that went out of their way to make her a Name Day cake.


	12. L is for Lonely

Memories came back to Wendy at some of the strangest times.  Laying in bed just before daybreak, she was trying to get rid of the remnants of a darkspawn induced nightmare, and her drifting thoughts turned towards Jowan.

Not just her friend Jowan, from all the time she'd spent in the Tower as an apprentice with him, but rather, him as he was just before they tried to escape with that Chantry initiate.  He'd loved Lily, but didn't tell Wendy about her until the late in their relationship.  Wendy had thought before that it was because he hadn't trusted her, but that wasn't the truth.  It was because he'd wanted something for himself, something private and just for him.  The templars took everything they could from the mages, trying to stamp out their magic in the name of the Maker, often taking away the few things that made them human.  She understood that now, but she hadn't at the time, wondering why her friend didn't tell her the biggest and most important thing in his life.

But hadn't needed him to vocalize it after a while, because she'd seen the change in him, though she hadn't realized in the beginning that it was due to a girl.  It was strange - she'd never experienced much in the way of love herself, she liked people, sure, but it hadn't changed her.  Not the way it seemed to change Jowan, making him happier and sadder, prone to poetic fits, reckless and ready to lose everything.

Wendy thought she loved magic, but loving a thing wasn't the same as loving a person.  It hadn't taken up much space in her head, the difference in Jowan, the subtle changes that added up to a lot, until she met Lily.  

Every second with Jowan and Lily was strained, hard to understand from her perspective.  She was constantly the interloper, and was nothing but a tool in their plans.  Plans to be together, without anyone else, as if all they needed was one other person and the whole rest of the world, friends, teachers, mentors, templars - was incidental.  The two of them had a palpable bond between them, stronger than the friendship she shared with Jowan.  Without asking, Wendy had gotten the sense that if this went wrong, Jowan wouldn't hesitate to hurt her to save Wendy.  It was terrifying.

And it made her jealous at first, then very deeply lonely.

She wasn't jealous of Lily, not at all, she didn't want Jowan even in the least, but of love.  It seemed stronger than any magic she'd ever encountered, and much more foreign.  It made Jowan and Lily both ready to risk their lives and futures for the chance to be together.  Even Cullen, who watched her with round, doe eyes wouldn't have done that for Wendy.  Would there ever be love for her?  Could anyone love a mage?

Thinking back on it made her feel strange to see it from such a distance.  Nathaniel rolled over in her bed, drawing closer to her.  She felt his hand skimming over the top of her thigh, a calloused finger drawing warm designs against her skin.

"Nightmare?"  He asked in a groggy, thick voice.

"Lonely."  She replied.

"Let me fix that."  He said, pulling her back down to the bed with one arm.  She smiled, understanding with a tinge of sadness for Jowan.  Wherever he was, she hoped he wasn't lonely.


	13. M is for Map

The rain is pouring down around them as they try to make their way back to the Wending Wood.  It's really awful, but stopping, camping in it for hours would be worse than the slow slog they are doing.  Endless fields stretched around them and her eyes desperately seek signs of a farmhold or someplace where she could beg for shelter until the rains end.  


There's nothing as far as the eye can see.  She wonders if they are really even going in the right direction.

"Come on, let me see the map."  Sigrun asks again and Wendy relents, even though she's already argued that, with her scant knowledge of the surface, Sigrun probably can't read it any better than she can.

"No, no, you daft woman, you're holding it upside down."  Oh good, Oghren might actually be able to read a map.  She was soaked, chilled to the bone and tired.  At this point, Wendy didn't care who read the damn map, so long as someone could figure out how to get out of the damn rain.

Wendy closes her eyes and makes a forcefield, which doesn't stop the rain but makes her feel like less of it is hitting her.  It's not much, and perhaps it's all in her head, but it's better than she felt before.  Everything is cold, and there are puddles in her boots.  She's lost in thought, thinking about how to dry herself out a little when a sharp cry and loud oath force her to open her eyes.

"You broke it!"  Sigrun accused, looking daggers at Oghren.

"You can't break paper.  I ripped it."  Sure enough, Oghren is holding part of their map, while Sigrun is holding onto another soggy portion.

"Shems and durgen'len can't do anything right!"  Velanna said in an exasperated tone.  She had been oddly silent on their jouney back, and as Wendy looked at her, she realized, completely dry. 

"I'm going to ask a tree."  Velanna sniffed and turned away from them, walking down the path and placing her hand on a tree.

"Ask a tree.  Why didn't I think of that?"  Wendy said sarcastically, but she watched Velanna in fascination as a green energy pulsed around her and the tree she was 'asking'.

"Come on, it's this way."  Velanna called out to them, turning further into the woods.  Wendy was almost certain that wasn't the way, but didn't argue.

"I'm sorry about the map, Commander."  Oghren said in a gruff voice from her side.  She shook her head waving off his apology.  Incredulous laughter filled her head, and she had another reason to want to get home, so she could tell Nathaniel about this little development.  Who needed a map when you could just ask your friendly Dalish mage to talk to a tree?


	14. N is for Nathaniel

She couldn't stop staring at him as he squared off, the unfamiliar daggers glinting in his hands.  She's watching him spar with Sigrun, training on daggers, though he's far deadlier with his bow.   It's gone way past the point where her friends would tease her, and turned into something nearly hazardous, but she likes to just see him, almost as if that could hold him in place, make him permanent within her life.  It's okay to stare at him at the moment, all the eyes in the courtyard are turned on him as well.  Wendy would be looking at him anyway but this is a treat, to watch the graceful lines of his lithe body as he dances around, to admire how the light catches his dark hair, the glint in his grey eyes.

Wendy licks her lips, thinking about the time they've spent together recently.  It was so strange, how he burst into her room one night, looking all thunder and rage but then wound up kissing her senseless.  She'd tried asking him what he'd come in there for, she was certain that he was going to yell at her, but he insisted that he didn't remember.  

"I looked at you, nearly naked and beautiful and every thought left my head.  I couldn't remember why or what I had to say, only that I needed to kiss you."  He'd murmured, kissing the back of her neck the last time she'd posed the question.

"Get low!" Oghren bellowed, bringing her back to the fight in front of her.  The comment couldn't have been directed towards anyone but Nate, who was showing is fatigue and losing ground to Sigrun.  She'd have him cornered in a moment.

He charms her, and Wendy knows it.  It's nothing overt like the overwrought gestures Anders is prone to employing, but something altogether more subtle.  A brush of his hand, a small smirk, a remark that makes her think before she realizes that he's flirting with her, the flowers left in her bedroll when they are outside the Keep.  They'd long since stopped trying to keep it a secret, realizing the futility of that endeavor almost immediately.  Wendy doesn't really mind, because there's something nice about not having to be secret, too careful or watchful.  All her life in the Tower was filled with sneaking and secrets, things kept away from others, mages, mentors, templars.  She likes the openness.

She's grown to care deeply for him, and she cheered him on, even as she watched him get thrashed by the nimble dwarf.  "Move your arse, Howe!"  Wendy yelled, but it has the opposite effect she intended, distracting Nathaniel further, making him laugh.  She can see him smiling even as Sigrun moves in.

There's so much about him, his life that she still doesn't understand.  Nobility is such a strange concept to her, so far away from the realm of mages, where titles and money mean little.  She doesn't know how to be arlessa, and prefers to let Varel coach her in such things.  This wasn't the world she was born into, but she's learning to play her part.

Nathaniel is better, better at adapting than her, quick to learn and eager to try new things.  There are times when he's still upset, moody, and doesn't understand why his life had to change so drastically, but most of the time he seems happy as a Warden.  She's noticed the pointed questions about his father, and realized he's still piecing things together.  Oghren's gotten a couple of uncomfortable questions, but she hasn't yet.

"I yield."  The defeat comes easily, and Sigrun extends a hand, helping him up off the ground.  He's limping a little, but still smiling as he headed towards Wendy.

He dropped down next to her and she put her hands on his, letting healing magic flow through her and into him.  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Anders healing Sigrun, though she's taken much less damage than Nate.

" _Move your arse?_ "  He whispered with an eyebrow quirked.  "Very dignified, Wen."  

"I love you and didn't want you to get hurt."  She pouted a little, letting him see her lip jutting out.  Nate laughed softly at the display, groaning as the healing finished.  There's still some bruises, but those won't be too bad after he sleeps it off.  "You still lost, even with my encouragement."

"I didn't lose."

"Was I watching the wrong fight?"  She asked, looking around mockingly.

"You've never told me you love me before.  I think that counts as a victory."  He's right, she realized and nearly panicked, but Nathaniel laced his fingers through hers, calming her, facing forward as two of the soldiers get ready to fight.  "You know I love you, Wendy."  He didn't look at her as he said it, and she didn't turn towards him but can feel the promise in the words, the intensity.  "Forever."  He finished, the word nearly drowned out by the clanging of swords.


	15. O is for Order

The Templar Order was always something of a dichotomy to her, as a mage.  They were to be feared at times, certainly not trusted, with few exceptions, though the exceptions were always the ones Wendy remembered.  Amongst their ranks, there were murderers, rapists, zealots and complete sadists and there were times when she often thought that the Chantry housed more criminals than they prosecuted.  But there were good men and women there too, devoted to the Maker, wanting to serve in their own way for a variety of reasons.

It wasn't until Cullen that she realized there might templars that truly love mages, despite their positions.  He'd cared for her, and though she had no chance to discover if she returned his affections or not, leaving the Tower so soon after she came to understand the extent of his feelings.  Though she didn't regret leaving, especially not after the abominations and the whole mess with Uldred, she certainly wouldn't have minded finding out more about the young templar.  Fate, however, didn't have that in store for her.

Alistair had given her more insight, and though he was no longer a ward of the Chantry, she counted him amongst the templars, though he was Warden, first and foremost.

It was strange to think of them as people, individuals that made up the unmovable force that had disciplined and shaped her whole existence.  Even now, as the most famous and freest mage in all of Ferelden, she found her self constantly looking over her shoulder, wary of templars.  Old habits died hard.

She tried to explain it to Nathaniel one night, sitting behind him as she re-braided his damp hair.  He listened but she wasn't sure if he understood - no one had hunted him for his whole life, telling him how his very existence was sinful and wrong.

"Do you think I'll ever be free?"  She asked, more to herself than him.

"Your caution is understandable, fear has been bred deep into your very being.  But you are free, don't let them make you forget that."  He answered.

She kissed the back of his neck, and went on braiding his hair.  He was right - she'd just needed a reminder.


	16. P is for Paragon

"Did you get to see the Paragon statues when you were in Orzammar?"

Sigrun is sitting across from Wendy as they eat in the dining hall, a room that she supposed might have been formal at some point but morphed into something much more casual, where her and the rest of the dirty, muddy, worn out wardens and soldiers took their meals.

"I did."  Wendy looks around carefully for Oghren before continuing.  "I met Branka - she was nugshit insane."

"Well, everyone knew that, but ancestors, her work was amazing."  Sigrun took a drink from her wine, looking at Wendy over the rim of the goblet.  "I just haven't seen them, you know?  I wasn't allowed up there.  Well, I could have gone before I joined the Legion, if I'd wanted to leave for the surface, but I never took that chance.  I felt like that hallway, there would have been no going back after that."

"Cairdin was trapped in the body of a golem, but I guess I met him too."  Wendy mused, thinking back on her time in Orzammar.  "The Paragons aren't quite what I expected, but I think the Deep Roads gets to everyone after a while.  Makes them desperate as they feel more and more isolated."  She wasn't sure she was explaining it correctly, so she changed the subject.  "Why didn't you ever want to come to the surface?"

"You hear stories, bad ones, about the surface all the time.  As much as they don't want the casteless around, they don't want us to get out either.   It's better to be miserable and poor in Orzammar than to risk the surface.  Still, I wish I had the courage to come sooner, to see for myself.  Maybe I would have been able to see those statues."

"They're beautiful."  Wendy said.  "When you go back as a Warden, you'll be able to see them without shame."

"I hope you're right."  Sigrun smiled as she said it, looking hopeful.


	17. Q is for Quitting

It had been a tense couple of days with Velanna, who had been more prickly than ever.  When the mage showed no signs of working off her foul mood, Wendy had gone to talk to her, to try and figure it all out.

"Humans!  You think you know everything."  Velanna was still angry, and raged when Wendy tried to approach her.

"Try again, Velanna.  I'm pretty sure it's just me concerned for a friend."  Wendy stood her ground, returning Velanna's glare with one of her own.

"I am sorry, Commander."  Velanna closed her eyes, drew in a breath and then refocused on Wendy, calmer this time.  "I just...I have made mistakes, and I want to stop making them.  But quitting is harder than I thought it to be."

"What are you talking about?"

"All my life, I've been told that humans are the enemy of the People.  We have suffered much at their hands, lost our homeland twice over, our freedom, even our length of our lives.  But now, I find myself amongst them, even friendly with them, with a purpose and an even greater enemy."

"The darkspawn."  Wendy supplied, and Velanna nodded.

"Those vile creatures would kill all of us without hesitation.  I must not be like them, cannot let my anger guide me to be mindless in my vengeance. Plus, there are other things that I should be doing now that I have the chance."

"Like what?"

"Looking for Seranni.  I can fight the humans for eternity and cause nothing but pain or I can quit this quest for revenge and be a Grey Warden, and look for the darkspawn that took her away."

"What was she like?"  Wendy asked, realizing she knew little about Seranni, though the elf had helped them escape the Architect for some unknown reason.

"Not like me, more patient, funnier.  She wasn't apprenticed to a Keeper, she didn't have the gift.  But she was called to the way of the Vir'Atishan, the way of peace.  I think she only came with me when we left the clan to keep me safe.  It's funny, but I thought I was doing the same for her, and it turns out, neither one of us were safe."

Wendy put her hand on Velanna's shoulder, an empty gesture of solidarity, because Wendy didn't understand Velanna at all, but felt for her loss.

"Tell me more about your sister.  I think I might have sisters or brothers, but I never knew them."

"Is that the way of humans?"  Velanna asked, surprised.  "I thought family groups lived together."

"For mages, it is not uncommon.  We are taken from our families when we show signs of magic."  The Commander gave Velanna a wan smile.  "It's hard to miss something you don't have any concept of, but I admit I am curious and a bit jealous of people that have siblings.  Nathaniel tells the funniest stories about his."

"Ah, is that what he talks to you about in your tent so late into the night?"  Velanna kept her face blank, but her eyes sparkled with laughter, and Wendy felt her face flush hot.  Was she actually being teased, by _Velanna_?

"Amongst other things."  Wendy sputtered, and was rewarded with a snort of laughter from the elf.  "Don't try to change the subject.  Tell me of your family."

Velanna harrumphed again, as she organized her thoughts.  "To the Dalish, the whole clan is your family, though I am lucky to have a sister such as her."  She began, and with Wendy's encouraging smile, she grew more comfortable, recalling events nearly forgotten as she spoke of a type of family and life that could only occur within the Dalish.  It made Velanna glad she'd decided to look for the talking darkspawn, for her sister.  She didn't want memories to be all she had left.


	18. R is for Reflection

"Hey, Commander. Commander!"  Oghren was waving Wendy over with an enthusiasm that she found a little alarming, but she answered his summons.

"What's up?"

"I was just telling these soldiers."  He motioned around the table, where a very amused looking Nathaniel, Anders and Sigrun were sitting with some of the Keep's soldiers and Seneschal Varel.  "Bout that time we met Andraste's spirit buddy, that guy who guarded the ashes." 

"The Guardian?"  Wendy asked with a raised eyebrow.  Someone, she thought it might have been Varel, snorted.

"Yeah, him.  He thought he was still in the Imperium, and then we solved some riddles and you talked to some weirdo in a robe."

"That would have been Jowan."

"Wait.  Jowan was there?"  Anders broke in, suddenly interested in the story.

"Not really.  It was a vision, someone from my past."  Wendy wasn't sure how to explain what she'd seen in the Gauntlet, how it had affected her.  She still wasn't sure about it, and as Oghren had pointed out the whole mountain had been a giant pile of lyrium.  Her memories were hazy and confused, as if they were purposely distorted to keep from recalling things correctly.

"Who's Jowan?"  Sigrun asked, gnawing on an apple.

"Another apprentice from the tower.  We were good friends when we were younger."  Wendy answer in a distracted monotone.  Her mind was still caught in the fog of memory, trying to sort it out, or at least find something to say to the group of people still looking at her.

"He gave you some kind of trinket."  Oghren reminded her, and she reached under her robes, and pulled out reflection, the pendant she'd gotten there.

"Yeah, this is it."  She said.  "It's called Reflection.  It's a reminder, encouragement.  It helps me remember the past, even when the present seems too much and the future too far to contemplate."

The table went silent at her words, some of the people gathered around leaned closer to get a look at the amulet.  It bore an old sign on it, an unfamilar mark of the Chantry and a mirrored back.  She didn't think they believed Oghren up until that point, but a physical item lent some credence to his tale, as outlandish as it seemed.

"You got that on your quest to find Andraste's ashes?  Is that why you never take it off?"  Nathaniel asked, and the whole table erupted in hoots.  Realizing what he'd said, he scowled, his whole face turning scarlet as he got up from the table.  Wendy turned away too, there was no need for her to stay longer, nothing more to be said about the trek to the Urn of Scared Ashes that couldn't be learned from Oghren.

But he was right, she never took it off.  Much of her past before the Circle, a family, her life, was a mystery.  This reminded her of what she did have before the Wardens, of the family she made within Kinloch Hold, of the lessons she would never forget.


	19. S is for Ship

The breeze off the water lifts her hair as she walks by, and she stops to stare out at the sea, a view she can't get enough of.  Amaranthine was a port, first and foremost, the wealth of the arling coming primarily from shipping over the Waking Sea.

In the tower, looking out the window always meant looking out towards the places they weren't permitted to go, a landscape of inviting places, all hidden and guarded.  The only ships that came across Lake Calenhad was the tiny little boats bringing mages or visitors to the tower.  Always bringing people, hardly ever letting anyone out.  Wendy shakes her head, trying to get rid of the memories and enjoy the salty, sea breeze that is persistently reminding her that she isn't still locked in the tower, though many good people are.

"It's called a brigantine."  Nathaniel's voice is in her ear and she smiles, leaning into his touch.  He wraps an arm around her waist, standing with his chest to her back, his head tilted to the side not blocked by her staff.

"Are all the tall ships brigantines?"  She asked, ignorant of almost everything that has to do with the water, including beautiful ships.  The one in front of them is particularly fine, the large sails have all been repaired and are filled with the wind, displaying the coat of arms on them.

"No, not all of them, but that other one is as well."  He pointed off to the right, and when she turned her head, he took the time to place a kiss on the taut tendons in her neck.  Wendy laughed softly.

"That was a cheap trick."

"It worked and I got my kiss."  Nathaniel chuckled with her, and she could feel the rumble of his chest pressed to her back.  "The big one way at the end of the harbor is a barque.  It's got more masts than the brigantines."

"How do you know all this?"

"I spent a lot of time here when I was younger, before I went to the Free Marches.  I always loved the ships.  I wanted to be a pirate"  He laughed.  Wendy leaned back into him, closing her eyes and letting the errant strands of hair blow across her smiling face.  

"You'd be a rubbish pirate.  Too soft."

"That's why you'd be my first mate."  Nathaniel nuzzled her neck, pulling her closer. The sounds around them muffled, and she was only dimly aware of the shouting of men loading and unloading ships nearby, the noisy repairs that seemed to last from dawn until dusk.  All she could hear was the sloshing of the water, and the archer breathing into her neck.

She wondered idly, if she'd ever get the chance to take a ship, if it was as romantic as it seemed.  Maybe one day she would travel by water, instead of just walking along the darkspawn infested lands. 


	20. T is for Tevinter

It had long passed the point where Wendy had been able to keep track of how many drinks she'd had, but she was still in the game, playing cards and losing money.  She'd come back, this was just a temporary setback.

"So."  Anders started, looking at her.  "What's the strangest thing you've ever done?  Well, before the Wardens.  We do such strange things on a daily basis, it wouldn't be fair to pick just one."

Wendy thought as she took a sip of her ale.  "Well there was this one time I talked to a Tevinter statue in the basement of the Tower."

Anders cackles, "You did not."

"It was when I was helping Jowan.  There was a statue down there that had been an advisor to an archon, but she gave him some advice he didn't like, so he turned her to stone."

"Get out."  Sigrun breathes, disbelieving of Wendy's tale.  "Can magic actually do that?"

"The ancient Tevinters are the ones that were said to have corrupted the Golden City and brought darkspawn upon us.  Their magic was dangerous and unparalleled."  He explained.

"They sank Arlathan."  Velanna piped up in an indignant tone.

"So yeah,"  Wendy said, cutting off the rant she could hear building behind Velanna's statement.  "They could probably turn someone into stone."

"What did it say to you?"  Captain Garavel asked from the seat next to her.  He was winning, but just barely.

"Weep not for me, child. Stone they made me and stone I am, eternal and unfeeling. And thus shall I endure 'til the Maker returns to light their fires again."  Wendy said, recalling the words that she'd never been able to forget.  She'd seen a lot as a Warden, that was true, but it wasn't everyday that a cursed Tevinter statue spoke to her.  Garavel made a strained sound, as if he were holding in his thoughts, but she knew he was like many of the Chantry, afraid and suspicious of magic and those who had it.  Perhaps she shouldn't have told him.

"Ambigious rubbish."  Velanna scoffed with a disdainful look on her face.  Wendy was surprised and amused that she was echoing Jowan's exact words. "Especially if you don't believe in the Maker."

It still gave Wendy a chill, to think on the immense power of the Imperium and how the archon had the woman turned to stone.  Tevinter had to be a dangerous place of many mysteries.  She wondered if she would ever need to explore them in her duties as a Warden.


	21. U is for Uninterrupted

"You always look stunning in the light of the fire."  Nathaniel said, whispering to Wendy as they stayed up on patrol.  They were nearing the Blackmarsh, but had stopped for the night, their companions sleeping nearby.

"Flattery won't work, you know."  Wendy shot back at him.

He tsked at her, shaking his head.  "My lady, I would never resort to simple flattery.  It's just a fact.  Were we not near a cursed marsh, I might suggest we abandon our duties for a while."

"So a cursed marsh is the only thing stopping you?"

She had been joking, but Nathaniel's grey eyes took on a hard glint and he turned serious as he looked over at her.  "Yes."

The word was imbued with enough force to shock her to a complete standstill.  For one breathless moment, they locked eyes, intent smoldering in his, stripping her down and raising a primal surge of want through her.

"What would you do, say if we were back in my room, and left strict instructions not to be bothered?"

"You and I, uninterrupted?"

"Yes."  Wendy breathed the word, shaky voiced and needing to hear the answer.

He sat silently for a moment, gazing back at the fire, forming his answer.  It felt like eternity stretched between them, the silence blotting out the sounds of world around them as she waited.

"Your hair, freed from that ponytail you always wear it in."  He started, and turned to her, fingers picking up the ponytail in question.  She wore her long hair tied back and tossed over one shoulder.  His calloused fingers ran through the strands, touching them as if the feel of her dirty hair would inspire him.  "I'd like to see it spilled over your bare shoulders, wet and heavy just after I wash it."

Wendy laughed, not taking him seriously, thinking it all a dig at her hair, filled with muck and branches as they forced their way closer to the Blackmarsh.  Nathaniel didn't join in her laughter, but continued in a low, serious voice.  "I've always wanted to take a bath with you, watch the soap as it travels over the curve of your breasts, the flat of your stomach, leaving your skin shining before the water takes it away."

She wasn't laughing any longer, but holding her breath as he continued.  "My hands have their own mind sometimes, so you'd have to forgive them if they were less than gentlemanly under the water, but they desire to see you splashing about, your head thrown back in ecstasy, wet hair spilled over the edge of the basin."

"What would these wanton hands be doing?"  Wendy asked, trying to balance her teasing tone with her burning need for him to continue.

Nathaniel chuckled softly.  "I am a good archer, am I not?"

"You know you are."  Wendy replied.

"It took me years of training to become one, even now, I train to keep my hands dexterous."  He said, unconsciously flexing each hand, steepling the fingers in a stretching exercise she'd seen him do many times before.  "It takes a similar kind of skill to bring a woman to climax so many times that she shakes at every touch.  I'd wager it takes a little more work to do it underwater, to keep your wet body from twisting and writhing away from my hands as pleasure makes you mindless.  But I want you to see you like that, panting and moaning as the bathwater cools your heated flesh."

"And when you'd have me, I'd want you on top, if it pleases you.  The sight of you from below is always extraordinary and I think your slick, flushed skin and half damp hair would make it even more fetching.  Beads of water making paths down your body as you ride me, the light reflected off your wet skin, the sight of you from below, tilting your head back as you groan."  He groaned softly as he described the scene, his husky voice nearly as delicious as the scene he set.

"That's how we'd start, at least."  Nathaniel finished, the tip of his tongue darting out to touch his top lip.  "I've got other things in mind, depending on how much _uninterrupted_ time we'd have."

Wendy leaned closer to him, her words barely a whisper.  "How much more do you have in mind?"

Nathaniel closed the gap between the two of them with a kiss, sweeter than she expected given the charge between the two of them.  "Enough to last for a good while.  There are ways I want to take you that we haven't tried yet.  Positions that I can't rightly describe with words.  Things that would make a courtesan blush."

"Your time in the Free Marches must have been exceptionally well spent."  She mused, earning a dry laugh from Nathaniel.  "After this trip, we shall make some uninterrupted time."  Wendy promised in a murmur against his lips.

"I hope so, Warden-Commander."


	22. V is for Vigil

She ran her hand across the crumbling stone of the building, relishing the quiet of the night as she walked along the corridors.  Wendy was on her way to the disorganized library, to see if she could locate anything relating to local history, specifically, the Keep.  She wanted to know more about the home of the Ferelden Wardens.  Varel had told her some, but he admitted that his knowledge was scanty, that the last arl seemed disinterested in anything to do with Amaranthine, unless it was acquiring more sovereigns.

The building was a marvel, but after so much neglect, she was amazed it had endured this long.  The stone was different here than in any other edifice she'd encountered, and it seemed older, but this part of Ferelden seemed ancient compared to say, Denerim.

Buildings were never of much interest to her until she went to Orzammar.  There she marveled at the stone and realized how much the dwarves had done on the surface.  Stone held so much history, there were things here older than memory, things never committed to paper.  In the Circle they had put so much importance on historical documents, it was strange to know there were whole histories, stories of people that were lost to the past, though people continued to live in their buildings and walk the same stretches of land they had inhabited.

Vigil's Keep intrigued her, it had been her home as Kinloch Hold had, but there was even less known about it, more mysteries to uncover.  Unlike the Hold, there were no curious scholars locked into it, studying anything and everything that may have been of interest.  All that was here was the Howe family, and they hadn't seemed given to scholarly pursuits.  Alas, she was more likely to find Nathaniel attending to his weaponry than to open a book of history.

"Warden-Commander, I didn't see you there."  Wendy rounded a corner to run straight into Mistress Woolsey, who looked as if she were off to bed.

"I'm sorry, Woolsey, it was entirely my fault."  Wendy didn't know why, but she always felt compelled to be extra polite to Woolsey.  There were few on the Vigil's staff that didn't resent her presence, and Wendy had been too busy when she arrived to give her more than a perfunctory welcome.

"It's alright, Commander.  Are you off to bed?"  Woolsey asked.

"No, I can't sleep.  Dreams, you know.  To the library, I think, to try and learn more about the Vigil.  No one here seems to know much about it."

Woolsey smiled indulgently at her.  "Ah yes, it is a fascinating old building, though I don't claim any great knowledge of it.  I know that the Avvars thought it a holy site, and after the Orlesians left, it was the first place the flag of Amaranthine flew again."

"That's fascinating.  I had no idea about the Avvars."

"Yes, if you can muck through the mess of the library, I'm sure you can find more about it than just my words.  Goodnight, Commander."

"Goodnight, Mistress Woolsey."  Wendy said.  Woolsey watched her go, the steps speedier now that she had an objective in mind.

The Vigil was a great and holy place, Woolsey conceded, running her hand along the wall, just as Wendy had minutes before.  Her ancestors wouldn't mind her telling a few of the secrets.


	23. W is for Winter

The heavy snow fell down around them, in large, wet flakes just as they were heading back to the Keep, prompting no end of complaints from Velanna but Sigrun and Anders were unusually quiet, both of them fascinated by the snow.  Wendy loved it, but was glad they had finished their business and were nearly home before it blanketed her arling.

"At least it didn't happen on the way _to_ Amaranthine, then we'd have to walk both ways in it"  Wendy pointed out, though she herself was starting to lose the feeling of her toes.  Wriggling them inside of her boots, she rushed on, thinking that the best thing about snow was how many ways there were to warm up.

Truly, she didn't mind walking in it, after the change of years had been denied to her for so many years.  Time got funny in the Circle, and she didn't know one month from the other sometimes, until the chill of winter settled into the stone floors or the templars started sweating in their heavy armor at the beginning of the summer season.  Individual days were more important, lessons and gossip, things that took up time but didn't require her to know the date.

When they arrived at the castle, wet and shivering, she relished the sting of the warmth against her cold cheeks.  Her robes were soaked through, dripping into a puddle forming at her feet, and she unbound her hair, shaking the snow and damp from it.  Everyone headed up towards their quarters without explanation, needing to shed their traveling clothes, and she was sure Sigrun would spend the afternoon tending to armor after they ate.

As Wendy pushed open the door, the warm scent of lavender met her nose and she wanted to hug whomever had started the fire in her quarters.  A warm Nathaniel was in her bed, his hair loosen and spread out on her pillow as he read a book.  Taking one look at her, he got up, and wordlessly began helping her out of her robes.  She pressed an icy kiss to his lips, laughing as he shivered.

"Let me warm you."  He said, once she was redressed in a dry set of robes, leading her to the fire by her hand.  She glanced out the window to see the sky white with snow, the flakes coming down in a steady, blinding sheet now.  

The best thing about snow was coming in from it, she realized as she settled against Nathaniel's chest.


	24. X is for Xenolith

Justice wasn't easy for Wendy to understand, even though she had been in the Fade in her waking state, and in her Harrowing encountered a spirit of Valor.  The spirit seemed unhappy, though she knew he did not possess feelings as she knew them, and yet he continued to serve with them, as a Grey Warden.  She supposed it was his way of honoring the man whose corpse he hadn't meant to defile, but she still had difficulty understanding Justice.  

That was the best way she could describe the spectral user of Kristoff's corpse, it was that it endured.

Outside of a cave in the far reaches of the Wending Wood, Justice froze in his tracks, putting out one arm to stop Wendy as she came up behind him.

"Lyrium - in there.  I can smell it.  It beckons, singing, almost, though it is only as if part of me can hear it."  He said.

Wendy ventured into the cave without more prompting, immediately seeing what caught Justice's attention.  The whole of the cave ceiling was lined with the faint, glowing blue of lyrium, but in particular it scrolled its familiar pattern down a ragged piece of rock near the entrance, the precious lyrium caught just out of reach.

"This shouldn't be here."  Oghren said warily as he came in behind Wendy.  "Commander, this feels like a trap."

"It's a prison."  Justice said softly.  "Those entombed in here are spirits, but older, not any I know.  The dwarf is right, we must leave."

He pushed Wendy roughly, urging her out the way they'd come, as eager to get away from the place as he had been to see it before.  She didn't understand, but shared in the sense of foreboding and knew the place to be much more than it looked.

"Do you miss the Fade?"  She asked, once they were back on the path.

"I do not miss anything in the way that you mean, but I feel out of place here, and long to return to what is natural for me."

"So you miss it."  She clarified.  "That sounds like missing to me."

"Then, yes.  It is a strange thing to have no way to go home again."

"Tell me about it."  Wendy muttered under her breath, thinking of the Tower.  She was not welcome to live there anymore, but wouldn't have wanted to go back even if she could.  Before, during the Blight, she'd thought about it often, about returning to live amongst the Circle, the places and things she'd once found so mundane had become comforting.  It was only when she was gone that she'd realized how much it had been a part of her.  Perhaps Justice felt the same way, and she felt a rush of emotion towards the spirit, finding some understanding for him after all.


	25. Y is for Youth

_A letter from Oghren, addressed to his child._

Dear Nibblet,

Dad's been out slaying dragons and darkspawn again.  You don't even have to brag, all of those stories about me are true.  The Warden-Commander wouldn't know what to do without me here at Vigil's Keep with her.  Amaranthine smells like fish all the time, but they have good ale here.  I've tried five kinds already.   

Life as a Grey Warden is tougher than in the army, but don't you worry about me.  The Commander here takes care of us all, and she's killed an archdemon and more darkspawn than all of us combined.  She got me a little gift to send to you, I hope you like it.  If not, the Warden's ~~loaded~~ a kind woman, I'm sure she could spare a few crowns to get you something better.

I miss you more than I can say.  Take care of your mom for me, kiddo.

Love,

Big Daddy Oghren


	26. Z is for Zenith

"Do you know anything about Weisshaupt, love?"  Nathaniel was standing in the window looking out at the snow covered grounds of Vigil's Keep.  This was his home, as it had long been, but she was pulling him away from it, yet again.  

After keeping the arling from collapsing and defeating the Mother and her twisted army, her presence had been desired by the First Warden.  She'd delayed for as long as possible, but she was running out of reasons not to go.  The Ferelden Wardens were recovering from their losses and growing, the city of Amaranthine was being rebuilt, and the countryside had grown quiet.  There was little that demanded Wendy's presence any longer, the duties of the arling could be handled by Varel in her stead.

"Are you sure you want to come?"  She asked again, earning his sigh.

"If I didn't want to come, I wouldn't have written and demanded that I be permitted to be your escort."

Wendy smiled at him, still not convinced, but relieved that he was so adamant.  She was sure that the First Warden would be far less charmed by his dedication than she was, but it gave her a measure of peace to go into the unknown with him by her side.  "Nothing really, it's like a big Warden mystery.  Everyone mentions the aeries where the griffons lived, and that inevitably derails the conversation.  And I have no idea what the First Warden wants with me."  She declared, though that wasn't quite true.  Ending the Blight should have cost either her or Alistair their life, but it hadn't and the First Warden would no longer be put off in his quest for answers.

"Is your trepidation for the journey or our reception once we arrive?"

"How did you know I was nervous?"  She asked.

"Because you keep avoiding questions and answering with other questions.  You do that when you need to think, to buy time."

She wrapped her arms around Nathaniel, though her face still looked worried.  "Nate, I have made many mistakes and been rewarded for them, gotten used to the accolades.  With this visit, he means to humble me, I am sure of it."  She said slowly.

Nathaniel held her, letting his body warm hers, comfort her in his arms.  "If he does, then you use it and do better.  It's all we can do.  You did what you thought best in a terrible situation, with neither you nor Alistair knowing much about the Order."  He consoled.

When he got no response, he tried another tactic.  "We have a few weeks, the thaw will come, and we'll be off.  Until then,"  he turned her around to face him, and gave her a swift kiss before motioning with his head towards the window.  "Come outside with me."

"To spar?"  She asked, thinking of training.

Nate chuckled at her, shaking his head.  "I was thinking something more like snowball fight that ends in kisses and me stripping you out of wet robes that cling in all the right places."

"Well, when you put it that way..."  Wendy said, already moving towards the door.  Outside of their trip, the future was unknown, and she could be very proud of her achievements in Amaranthine.  She'd miss the Keep, but as Nate had suggested, she wanted to enjoy it while she could.


End file.
